


Instant language

by pr_scatterbrain



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_scatterbrain/pseuds/pr_scatterbrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coco Rocha posts a picture of Sidney walking for Vionnet on her instagram account. Sidney finds out from Jessica Hart, but only after she’s tweeted it with the comment 'welcome back’ #sidthekid. </p><p>“You’re always my favourite baby doll model, Kiddo” Jessica grins when Sidney finds out. </p><p>Of all the nicknames Sidney’s been given, Sid the Kid always got under Sidney’s skin. She wasn't the first or even the most well-known of the doll face models. She doesn’t know why the nickname has stuck, only that it has. Usually it reappears when the mainstream media takes an interest in her, or men. </p><p>A model au where Sidney is Kate Moss... sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instant language

**Author's Note:**

> This would not have been possible without the help and support of Sarah (saxihighlandck) and Rae (masterpenguin). Sarah listened to me ramble about this idea (and all the au's of this idea) for months, and Rae continues to be the most generous friend, mod and beta in the world. Thank you both so much. *hugs and hearts*
> 
> I would also like to thank augustfalcon who made a really gorgeous art to accompany this. Thank you so much for making such beautiful images of Sid. They really enhances the story. You can (and totally should) check it out here: http://here-is-away.livejournal.com/1373.html
> 
> (The title is taken from the quote 'Fashion is instant language' by Miuccia Prada).

 

 _‘He told me 'never complain, never explain'.’_ \- Kate Moss on advice Johnny Depp gave her.

 _'Never complain, never explain'_ – Andreja Pejic on her modelling motto.

                               

 

 

The soundtrack is very Eastern European and the lights begin to flash three minutes into the show. Sidney takes a deep breath. The runway is a sea of lycra and graffiti inspired shirts. Wearing a shirt from the previous collection, Sidney’s skin feels hot from the lighting and her hair feels heavy against her neck. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tries to catch her breath. Only for a moment though. At the end of the runway, cameras are flashing. Sidney isn’t oblivious. The photographers aren’t just capturing Alexander Ovechkin’s debut runway appearance at Mercedes Benz Moscow Fashion Week.

Before the show started, Sidney had smiled and posed for them alongside people she didn’t know but was siting next too. Nothing too unusual; part and parcel of the contract she had signed when she agreed to attend the show. Ovechkin’s people had wanted her to open the show – they had offered more than Balenciaga had to fly her out to open their flagship Moscow store. The figure they’d presented had been enough to make even her agent almost want to break the limited exclusivity arrangement she had signed. Almost.

They settled for having Sidney attend the show, sit in the front row and wear his clothing.

The garment bag they had sent to the hotel had been a riot of colour.  Sports luxe – that’s the way Sidney had styled the shirt she’d finally settled on. Or tried too. It didn’t make much of a difference. Thankfully, Sidney doubted the photos would run outside of Russia.

By the halfway point of the show, Sidney’s gripping the side of her seat.

Her skin is clammy and her hair is sticking to the back of her neck and – and she was fine at the opening. Fifteen minutes on the red carpet drenched in flashes, then the launch party itself and the crowds, DJs sets and the endless glasses of champagne that she had been handed. It had all been fine. She had been fine.

The model who opened the show reappears dressed in an especially bright outfit to close the show. As she disappears, other models reappear for the finale. One by one they walk down the runway, clapping and smiling. Behind them trots out the designer –or namesake. Sidney isn’t sure which. Maybe both. It’s hard to know and too easy to be dismissive.

Sidney makes herself applaud.

As the runway clears and the lights are turned on, Sidney hopes the slight tremor running through her isn’t obvious. Hopes she isn’t obvious. Around her people are getting up. Some are swiftly moving towards the exits; clearly on their way to another show. Others are speaking loudly, their voices layering over each other. Sidney understands only a few words of Russian. None of them, despite Natasha Poly’s arguments to the contrary, are of any use now.

The venue is emptying. Sidney can feel it. She needs to get up. She needs to let go of the seat.

The guy – some kind of athlete, Sidney assumes – sitting next to her hasn’t moved.

He arrived late, just as the lights were about to go down. The photographers working their way around the front row had only managed get a few rushed shots of the two of them before they had shuffled into the press section at the end of the runway. 

When she feels him lean over, Sidney feels like using curse one of the words Natasha Poly taught her when she was sixteen and holding her hand while people argued endlessly about lighting.

He says something.

Sidney apologises. She isn’t sure if that helps given she does so in English.

“Are you okay?” he repeats, his voice slow and quiet.

She will be. All she needs is to catch her breath.

Turning, he waves down one of the event staff. He says something she can’t understand, but a few moments later the staffer returns with a bottle of chilled water. He unscrews the top for her, and hands her the bottle. Around them the venue is emptying. As someone passes them, he angles his shoulders, blocking her as much as he can from their gaze. It’s an unexpected kindness.

Sidney manages a few small slips.

The venue is almost quiet now. Inside her clutch, Sidney hears her phone vibrate. It’s probably been doing that constantly. Her driver must be waiting for her.

“Better?” he asks.

She nods.

He smiles.

“My driver –”

He nods. He’s wearing one of Ovechkin’s t-shirts and too much denim. When she goes to put down the bottle of water, he takes it from her and sets it aside.

 

 

A few hours after he had walked Sidney to her car, the same guy is at the Gosh by Gosha Karcev after party.

“Evgeni,” he introduces himself, smiling brightly at her. Sidney wonders if she’s meant to know him. Probably.

When she exchanges her name, he doesn’t seem to recognise her either. It doesn’t seem to be an act. It could be. It wouldn’t be anything new. But for some reason she doesn’t think it is.  

He’s still wearing the same outfit he wore at Ovenchin’s show. She’s wearing something that isn’t made of stretch polyester. When he leans close to talk to her over the music, she can smell his cologne. He offers to buy her a drink. In her hand is a glass of champagne. When she holds it up, he laughs instead of frowning.

“Next time,” he says, or asks. He’s smiling so brightly, Sidney isn’t sure. She nods though.  

 

 

They run into each other four times over the following three days. It stops being a coincidence around the same time Evgeni becomes Zhenya, and then Geno. She’s good with names, but she isn’t quite sure which he prefers. He always seems to smile no matter which she uses. In turn she quickly becomes Sid. His voice is low and his accent curls around her shortened name. The music is loud, because it always is. The sound of people talking over each other is louder.

In the background there are occasional flashes of cameras. The metal zip of Sidney’s dress presses against her spine as she sits back in the VIP booth. Every now and then people come up and put their hand on his shoulder and speak seriously to Geno. Without being asked, he explains that his team were knocked out of the playoffs. ‘Again,’ is unsaid but Sidney thinks she can hear it. He changes the subject before Sidney can work out if she should express some kind of condolence, distracting her and all the people around them by ordering champagne. Sparklers light up their corner of the club as the bottles arrive frosted with condensation, one by one in the hands of their host.

Geno’s face is flushed when he pulls her out on the dance floor. The music is loud, and the crush of dancing bodies swallows them. Sidney chose her dress for how it photographed, not how it felt when Geno pressed close, one large hand on the small of her back, the other touching her thigh. Cut high around the neck with sleeves that ended at her wrists, it was very short and metallic. It’s almost shocking how his touch makes her blood thrum beneath her skin. She’s flushed and breathless by the time the track ends.

Geno is not really what Sidney knows. She has a few Russian friends, so she's used to the accent, but not so much to him. He has large, gentle hands and she always notices when he places one on her hip or on the small of her back. There is kindness to him, she thinks.

When they get back to the booth, the people sitting in it have changed but Geno seems to know them. There are more introductions, and Geno keeps their host busy running up his bottle service tab. The new group have a taste for vodka. Sidney shakes her head when they pour her shots. Geno laughs and does them for her. His mouth red and slick as he knocks them back one after another.

Half sitting on his lap, he smiles at her as he touches her neck, his thumb touching the edge of her jaw as he tilts her face up and kisses her.

Opening his mouth, he swipes his tongue against hers, before sucking at it. Sidney presses into him, her hands fumbling with his t-shirt, trying to get a grip. His mouth is hot and he tastes of liquor. When she breaks away to catch her breath, Geno moans and bites her bottom lip. 

And fuck.

Sidney pulls his mouth back to hers.

 

 

He takes her back to his apartment. The traffic is horrendous. At the traffic lights, he takes his hand off the gear shift and tangles his fingers through her hair, kissing her until the lights change and the cars behind them blare their horns.

“Fuck,” he swears, laughing a little.

His mouth is swollen and his shirt is wrinkled and Sidney wants. Heat curls through her and when they finally get to his place, she can’t wait until they reach his apartment. In the lift up from the underground parking complex, she pushes him against the mirrored interior. Against her lips, he laughs.

He takes her hand when they reach his floor. At his door, he fumbles with his keys before getting the door open and pulling her inside. The moment the door closes behind them, he presses his mouth back against hers as they stumble towards his bedroom. Shrugging off his jacket, his hands go to the buttons of her coat and it’s an uncoordinated mess. She pushes his hands away when he gets stuck with the knot of her trench’s sash around her waist. Undressing herself, her mouth goes dry when he pulls his t-shirt over his head. His broad shoulders glow in the muted light filtered in through the large windows.

The click of his belt being unbuckled gets her back into motion. Unzipping her dress, Sidney tries to get out of her shapewear-underwear as quickly as she can. It makes her dress look great, but it’s not exactly something worth looking at. She doesn’t realise her hands are shaking until he laces his fingers through hers.

Though his is skin flushed and his eyes are dark, he is intent when he asks her if she is okay.

“We don’t have to,” he tells her.

She wants too. She just hasn’t done this before. Well, she has. But not like this. It’s not the sort of thing she would say, but in the darkness of Geno’s bedroom, with their bodies tangled so close that his exhaled breath becomes her inhaled breath, she does. He kisses the corner of her mouth delicately. The contrast of that against everything else they had done before, makes her close her eyes and tremble.

Her nerves are a mess. They sing and thrum and she turns and captures his mouth with hers.

He threads his fingers through her hair, and holds her close. For a little while they just kiss. There is something so careful about how he touches her. Sidney has never felt more vulnerable.

“Yes?” he asks when their kisses have an edge of desperation to them.

“Yeah.”

His breath is shallow, but his eyes are serious when he says, “Tell me if you don’t like. Promise. I stop if you don’t like.”

“Promise.”

Her breath goes shallow as he presses her onto her back and shifts on top of her. There is something so solid about his body. There is strength in his shoulders and back. Against her thigh, his cock his hard and wet with precum. His hips roll a little, as if he can’t quite control it. It undoes Sidney. Only his hands anchor her, holding her together when he kisses her collarbones and darts his tongue out to trace her nipples. She can’t help but whimper when he thumbs her clit.

Nothing is enough.

 

 

In the morning, he kisses her awake. He looks a little worse for wear, but his smile is so bright.

Inside her chest, Sidney feels her heart do stupid things. When she ducks her head under his chin, he brings her close and mutters sweet sounding words into her hair.

 

 

Sidney is meant to fly out – was meant to fly out – of Moscow mid-way through their fashion week. She ends up staying until she has to catch a red-eye or else she’ll miss the editorial she promised Emmanuelle Alt months ago.

Geno drives her back to her hotel which she hasn’t slept in for days and distracts her from packing.

She loses a few years on the drive to the airport. Geno is an awful driver. He drives too fast, and doesn’t look before changing lanes. When they arrive, he insists on walking her to her gate and wheels her luggage for her.   

Sidney doesn’t catch her breath until the plane’s wheels have left the runway.

 

 

In Paris, Emmanuelle kisses Sidney hello when she arrives at the shoot and ignores the make-up artists who mutter at the bite marks and hickeys.

“It is good to be back, yes?” Emmanualle asks as Sidney is dressed in the first look.

It is. Eight months in Nova Scotia, out with a concussion was more than enough. Sidney doesn’t say that even though it would probably make Emmanualle laugh and nothing more. They have known each other for many years, but Sidney smiles and nods. It is and isn’t an answer. Simple and easy. Emmanualle lets her. It is a particular kind of kindness that they try not to acknowledge.

The shoot itself is rather self-contained as they tend to be when David Sims is the photographer. The lighting is rather harsh. The first photographs David captures are of her blinking in front of the stark background he had created within the rather faded 30s hotel room. Sidney thinks one of them will probably run. Behind him, Emmanuelle turns to speak to one of her assistants. There is a strange sort of rhythm and rhyme working with David and Emmanuelle. It is perhaps not a natural partnership. Sidney is made up of angles and shadows. For all that she should have been the girl next door; the flash of the camera captures an awkwardness to her. Something disjointed and uneven. Carine Roitfeld once said that Sidney made her uncomfortable.

When the shoot moves to the wrinkled covers of the bed, Sidney leans her head back against the wood panelling. 

The length of her neck makes David step closer, his feet shuffling over cords and leads.

The forest green chiffon of the Valentino gown is twisted around her legs, crushed under her weight and made translucent by the lighting. The long leather belt Emmanualle and her assistant twisted around her articulates a sharpness to the dress. There is a satin like shine to the leather. They had twisted it over her shoulders, criss-crossed it between her shoulder blades before looping it around her waist. Tied in a sloppy double knot, there is a dismantled elegance to it. Shifting her shoulders, Sidney feels the leather pull with every breath.

When Sidney was a kid, she did catalogue work.

‘To help with her ‘self-confidence,’ her mother, Trina, used to say.

Sidney remembers being asked to smile even when she was already smiling, and how her mother, Trina, would send copies of the catalogues to her grandparents at Christmas. Then at fourteen Sidney was discovered, by a Ford scout on a school trip.

It was the first of many times she was ‘discovered.’

Within a year she and Trina were in NYC, and by the time Sidney was fifteen she was in Paris by herself with an exclusive contract walking for Prada’s S/S collection. In retrospect it was an exclusive contract in name only. Wording was everything, but in truth, no one knew who she was before Russell Marsh cast her to open. The show – the day – had been surreal. Afterwards Sidney couldn’t go back to Nova Scotia. Wouldn’t.

Even now, Sidney wasn’t sure how she managed to convince her parents to let her stay in Paris. The Ford model houses had a reasonable reputation as far as things went, though they still charged a ridiculously steep rent for the two bedroom apartment Sidney shared with an interchangeable group of a dozen or so models. Before the reality of the situation could be felt, Sidney was discovered again. This time by American _Vogue_ (yet three months prior, _Vogue Italia_ had chosen her for the June cover). They named one of the ‘Models of the Moment’ and Steven Meisel had photographed her and the eight other models sharing the title. By the next W/F season, she was booked for twenty shows in NYC fashion week, and nearly a dozen in London, and over double that for Milan and Paris.

When Trina was a teenager, she modelled too. For the most part she worked for local boutiques and department stores. It was how she supplemented her partial college scholarship. But the time she graduated with a degree in Education, she had lost interest and begun to focus on her career. Sidney has seen some of the images of Trina wearing floral blouses and neat looking skirts that covered her knees. Trina was a model when models actually were beautiful. For all that Sidney shares her mother’s dark eyes, they don’t look much alike. Sidney is tall and a specific type of plain which lends itself shoots like this.

As the light shifts through the hotel windows, the Valentino gown is replaced by a mix of Proenza Schooler pieces and Marios Schwab lingerie. Both less and more to carry – to manipulate. It’s not about the clothes though; it’s about how they fit into Emmanuelle’s vision. How Sidney fits into her vision.

 

 

(Sidney has never fitted in anywhere other than in front of a camera or on a runway).

 

 

When Sidney finishes the shoot, the day is gone and she’s tired and hungry and all she wants is to get back to her hotel and have a shower to wash out the gel in her hair. She arrives instead, to find her room filled with flowers. Roses. Red roses. Vases of them are littered about her room.

“Huh,” Sidney mutters at the surreal sight. Blinking, she tries to take in the vases of long stem roses.

Plucking the card from the largest bunch, Sidney flicks it open to find a message from Geno.

It’s a bit of a cliché.

Biting her lip, Sidney doesn’t care.

 

 

(Geno keeps sending flowers. He fills her hotel rooms with them.)

 

 

After Paris, there is New York City. NYC is hot and humid like it tends to be at this time of the year. While there, Sidney goes out for drinks with Jessica Hart and Lara Stone. They make faces at her when she meets them.

“Sidney,” Jessica states, clearly leading up to something.

Sidney settles back in her chair and waits. Jessica doesn’t disappoint. 

“An athlete? Come on Crosby.”

Sidney rolls her eyes. Jessica huffs.

“There are pictures of you kissing him in some random club in Moscow.”

This is news.

The pictures of them Jessica googles on her iPhone are almost vulgar. In the search results, there are other picture like them, but with Geno kissing other girls. Jessica makes sure to point them out, her finger ‘accidentally’ slipping over them, enlarging one just so Sidney can see the detail of Geno’s tongue tangling with one of the many blondes.

Sidney rolls her eyes.

Thankfully their meals arrive and the conversation ends.

 

 

(There are men who date models to date models.

Sidney isn’t naïve).

 

 

In the waiting room of Sidney’s doctor’s office, Jessica can’t settle. She fiddles with her phone, and picks at her nails before turning to Sidney. She had insisted on driving Sidney to her appointment. 

Sidney pre-empts her. “I’m okay.”

Sidney has said those words before. She can’t deny that. At the time, when the horse she was riding with Taylor shied and Sidney fell off, she honestly did think she was okay. Mostly okay. Only she wasn’t. It is clear Jessica hears the echo of those other okay’s now. Her doctor, a specialist in concussion recovery, listens as Sidney recounts what happened at Ovechkin’s show.

The reaction to the lighting worries Sidney’s physician, however some of the other symptoms point towards a panic attack. Concussions are difficult things. There are no easy solutions or proven treatment plan. As her doctor slowly takes Sidney through the now familiar physical tests and questions, Sidney turns her attention inwards. One of Sidney’s strengths has always been how well she knew her body. A lot of what she did was instinctual, and over the years she honed her ability. Now she isn’t sure where her limits lie.

At the end of the appointment, there are no clear answers to what happened in Moscow. Currently she appears to be symptom free, yet Sidney’s doctor cautions Sidney against over exerting herself. In the days that follow, Sidney visits her other specialists and submits herself to a battery of tests. Cautiously they all clear her to return to work.

Maybe it isn’t the ‘clean bill of health’ that would set her mind at ease, but it is what it is.

Sidney can only live in one place, and can only move forward; so she does.

 

 

Between Paris and Berlin, Geno calls.

“I never got to show you Moscow,” he says. 

Sidney doesn’t particularly care about sightseeing. She lets Geno use it as an excuse to invite her back.

She can only stay a few days. She tells him that on the phone and then again at the airport when he picks her up. He kisses her cheek and then the corner of her mouth. He carries her bag. In the parking lot she twists her body across the centre console of his car, because that isn’t enough. The gear shift is digging into her side but Geno has his hand tangled in her hair and she’s breathless.

 

 

Sidney visit coincides with Geno’s birthday. It isn’t a coincidence at all, but she likes how bashful Geno is when he tells her.

On the morning of it, she makes him close his eyes before she places a small box in his hands. Delighted, he rolls over and straddles her hips. Pulling the cobalt ribbon loose, he opens the box and smiles as he finds the bottle of cologne she picked.

The morning sun streams in through the windows, touching Geno’s shoulders and his arms. His body is so long and lean and there is such strength to him.  

Sidney can’t take her eyes off him.

 

 

Geno’s birthday party is a riotous event. He and Sidney arrive half an hour after it was meant to begin, though, as Geno says on the drive through Moscow, it’s his party so it does start until he gets there. He says it with a crooked smile, and Sidney doesn’t think anyone could resent him.

Sidney has spent most of her teenage years going to parties where she didn’t know anyone. When she moved to Paris, they became parties where she alternated between too embarrassed to use her limited French or not understanding half of what was being said. They didn’t start being something she could consider fun until she meet Jessica at Paris fashion week.  

There are so many people.

Geno haphazardly introduces, or reintroduces, her to them. His brother Denis shares his crooked smile with her as they fondly watch Geno as he dances with two of his team mate’s daughters. There is a gorgeous kind of ease to him. Surrounded by his friends and family, he is clearly in his element. He tells jokes (which don’t quite translate but make her laugh none the less), dances with everyone, and talks and talks and talks. At one point, Sidney excuses herself to go find the bathroom. When she returns, Geno’s face lights up when he catches sight of her.

“There you are,” he says, slipping an arm around her waist.

Sidney feels herself break into a smile – here she is.

Around them, the lights lower and the crowd parts as the venue staff wheel out a large cake.

The night ends just before dawn. In the back of a hire car, Sidney strokes Geno’s hair away from his face as he drifts off to sleep with his head on her lap.  There is something so stupidly sweet about him. Inside her chest, Sidney feels the beat of her heart steady and sure and no longer purely her own.

When their car slows down and stops at a set of red lights, Geno sluggishly blinks awake. Sidney smiles down at him.

Catching her palm in his hand, he kisses it softly.  

 

 

The Spring/Summer season of fashion weeks’ looms right around the time Geno is making plans to return to Pittsburgh for the Penguins training camp. Sidney’s American and Parisian agencies are buzzing. A few houses have booked Sidney, but it’s early yet. In bed, Sidney listens to the messages her agents left her and idly flicks through Natasha’s texts. Most of them are baby pictures Natasha and her husband Peter have taken of her daughter (and Sidney’s goddaughter) Aleksandra.

They aren’t in Moscow, but Natasha is awake and already planning for NYC fashion week. Apparently Sidney is staying with her and her family. It’s news to Sidney, but welcome. For a year or so, Sidney had an apartment in NYC. Mostly she bought it because people said she should. It was a good idea. Property ownership and all that jazz. It was good for her investment portfolio. Looked good in her investment portfolio. Looked good too. It had beautiful views and large windows, but she ended up giving it up. She was never there. After renovating it, Sidney wasn’t quite sure what to do with the space. For a little while it was home to her friends – models and photographers between jobs, her sister when she visited the local colleges, and once to her parents when they came to celebrate their anniversary. Towards the end, it was more a burden than anything else and it was far easier to stay in hotels or with friends.

It’s an open secret among her friends that Sidney is good at renovating and styling apartments, but she’s never been able to live in them. The closest Sidney got was the few years she and Andreja Pejic lived together in Paris, though Sidney is more than aware that that was mostly due to Andreja’s influence than any effort of her own.

Natasha actually bought Sidney’s old NYC apartment. She and Peter turned the abstract shell into a home. Sidney’s not sure how she managed that. The polished concrete floors, stark white walls and minimal furnishings Sidney had signed over to them had been beautiful, but austere.  Now the apartment’s cool elegance has effortless warmth to it.

When Sidney arrives, Natasha hugs her tightly. It’s been too long. When Sidney says as much, Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be sentimental,” she tells Sidney. “It isn’t attractive.”

Sidney supposes Natasha is right. She usually is.  

Natasha’s career was just taking off when Sidney arrived in NYC. Sidney doesn’t remember much of the shoot where they met. Only really how hot and humid it was, and how Natasha had crippling menstrual cramps.  Sidney could have taken over the editorial – many other model would have taken the opportunity to take over, especially at that point in their careers - but she sat with Natasha and held her hand when no one was looking. They got through the shoot together. 

They’ve been friends ever since.

 

 

As much as Sidney is technically staying with Natasha, when NYC fashion week begins, they hardly see each other. Sidney hits the ground running and she doesn’t stop. Her days are filled with shows and parties and events to attend and people to talk to and people she is photographed with. She is sewn into outfits and buckled into shoes that never quite fit even if they’re meant to be in her size, her hair is curled and straightened and styled in more ways than she can remember. She sees old faces at shows, catches up with friends backstage, and ignores the street style photographers outside the shows (obliviousness makes for a better image in her experience).

Then she is in London and sleeping in someone else’s guest bedroom, this time in Poppy Delevingne’s townhouse. A few hours after arriving, Sidney wakes up to find Cara eating frozen grapes next to her. She has lipstick on her teeth and she’s wearing half of Rita Ora’s yet to be released Adidas collection and half of Sidney’s capsule collection she and Olga Sorokina collaborated on for Irfé. Sitting up, Sidney helps herself to a few grapes.

“Taylor says hello,” Cara comments.

“Ditto,” Sidney tells Cara in return.

Yawning, Sidney reaches for her iPhone. It’s early. Too early really, when Sidney’s call time for the J.W.Anderson show in only a few hours. Cara has it too. That’s only the first of many shows for both of them. More than a little bit like an oversized cat, Cara rests her head on Sidney’s shoulder and settles against her.

“Hello from me too,” Cara adds, somewhat offhandedly.

It’s terribly easy to be fond of her.

They saw each other two days ago at a roof party DKNY was throwing. It wasn’t a particularly good party, but then, that wasn’t the point. It was to celebrate the launch of Cara’s new campaign for them. Sidney isn’t sure if Care’s slept since then. On the flight Sidney managed to sleep a few hours. Clearly Cara is going to manage a few hours now. It isn’t unlike her. It isn’t unlike Sidney to let her. It’s difficult not to like Cara. They’ve known each other since Sidney and Poppy turned up to Marc Jacobs’ annual costume party in almost identical costumes. It was Marc’s idea of a joke.

“My Apollo and Athena,” he crowed at the time – almost literally in his Pidgeon costume.

With Sidney’s hair dyed an almost white blonde after a shoot for Karl Lagerfeld, they had looked virtually identical next to each other. Cara and Taylor both thought it was hilarious when The New York Times published a photograph of them. So did Sidney and Poppy.

The blonde hair lasted less than a week once the people at Calvin Klein found out, yet Sidney and Taylor’s friendship with the Delevingne’s is still strong. 

Taylor was invited to London Fashion Week by Topshop. It was a nice offer. Over the summer Taylor had signed with Sidney’s agency and had done a rather sweet editorial for _Rookie_ magazine. When Sidney had seen the proofs, she had been struck by Taylor’s similarity to Miranda Kerr. They both have bright eyes and beautiful open smiles. It wasn’t a surprise when the shoot was received well, and for the most part Taylor seemed to enjoy the experience. But although she had fun, Taylor had confided in Sidney afterwards that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to pursue a career in fashion. Her confession hadn’t shocked Sidney. While Taylor translated beautifully on camera, whenever Sidney came home to visit, she was always covered in horse hair and full of stories about her latest show jumping lesson and her debate teams latest practice.

Cara had been particularly disappointed with Taylor declined Topshop’s offer. Sidney wasn’t. The school year had only just begun. Taylor wanted to focus on that, and Sidney supported her. There wasn’t time for everything, but there was time for the important things. For now at least, that was Taylor’s life in Nova Scotia.

 

 

It’s difficult to keep in touch with people, even Taylor.

Sidney life can be so transient. Midway through the S/S season, Sidney is missing more calls than she returns. The only people she seems to speak to with any regularity are her agents.

 

 

After London, Milan and Paris follow.

Sidney likes being in motion.

This isn’t a secret but probably should be.

There is a different structure and rhyme to this season. Maybe her unplanned absence changed things more than she realised. Maybe it didn’t. Unlike most models, Sidney is in the position to pick and choose her schedule. While some girls only have one good season, she’s had the luxury of choice for a while now.

The press and paparazzi follows her every move. Sidney’s return is the story of the season.

It is either an insult or a compliment; Sidney isn’t sure which. The media at large has always made her uncomfortable. Over her career she’s been the focus of a kind of specific type of fascination. She been ‘linked’ to more people than she can remember and had ‘feuds’ with her friends and family. She’s ‘gone to rehab’ for a variety of reasons when in truth she was in her childhood bedroom, bruised and concussed. Not that the truth ever counts for much. Her words are so often misquoted or taken out of context. It’s been a while since she stopped doing interviews, but that hasn’t stopped the press from writing stories (or making them up). It just resulted her being labelled ‘enigmatic.’ Sidney has never felt particularly mysterious. Mostly she thinks an excuse journalists use for not understand her and not to bother trying to.

 

 

It’s not about her. It’s never been about her. It’s about what sells.

(That’s the short answer).

 

 

In Milan, Sidney opens for Vionnet. This season – the season of her return, as some were calling it – they had been one of the first houses to reach out and book her. It’s a bit of an industry in-joke that Spencer Jane Smith the Fifth also walks the show. As they line up, waiting for the show to begin, Spencer catches Sidney’s eye and smiles. Spencer presence isn’t the only in-joke. A deceptively fragile blonde, Spencer’s inclusion in the show is just as purposeful as Sidney’s. However that isn’t common knowledge.

Although they are around the same age, they had come through in different waves. Different looks. Not that either of them were defined by them. There are rumours that this might be Spencer’s final season. Sidney doesn’t put much stock in rumours, especially given how Spencer was recently tapped for an international accessories campaign for Tods. Sidney does sense a certain ease to Spencer that is a contrast to how she carried herself a few years ago, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she is retiring. Either way, a plush corner office in the Valentino empire awaits her. That is a given. Almost her entire career thus far has been in preparation for it. Some of Sidney’s friends are changing focus too. In the front row of the Versace show, Coco Rocha snaps a photograph of Sidney. It’s strange to see her on the other side of the runway. Sidney tells her as much afterwards. It makes Coco laugh.

“Like anyone would let you sit in the front row when they could have you on the runway,” she jokes.

“I could say the same to you,” Sidney tells her, because it’s true.

Some people have said Coco’s look is too specific, but Sidney thinks they just haven’t been lucky enough to work with her. Before Sidney can say as much, they are pulled apart.

With a grin, Coco blows Sidney a kiss, “Until next time Crosby.”

 

 

Coco posts the picture of Sidney walking for Vionnet on her instagram account. Sidney finds out from Jessica, but only after she’s tweeted it with the comment ‘welcome back’ and tagged it #sidthekid.

“You’re always my favourite baby doll model, Kiddo” Jessica grins when Sidney finds out at the amfAR Gala.

Of all the nicknames Sidney’s been given and called, Sid the Kid always got under Sidney’s skin. She wasn’t the first or even the most well-known of the doll face models. She doesn’t know why the nickname has stuck; only that it has. Usually it reappears when the mainstream media takes an interest in her, or men. Men in particular like using that nickname instead of her name.

The amfAR Gala is one of the bigger events of the season. Since arriving Sidney hasn’t had a moment to catch her breathe. The red carpet had been packed, and once inside Sidney found herself pulled in all directions. Finding Jessica is a relief. Events like this are a part of Sidney’s job, but even after all these years there are moments where Sidney feels ill at ease and out of place.

Once, a few weeks before the accident, she and Viviane Sassen were so bored at the Vogue Italia 50th anniversary party that they snuck out and in the darkness of the gardens in the Villa Borghese. With only the flash of Viviane’s digital camera and the muted light from the party, they had an impromptu shoot. Like stills from a film, Viviane captured Sidney running barefoot through the grounds. Her dark hair melted into the night, her skin almost luminous. The tulle Louis Vuitton gown streaming behind her.

In front of the camera, Sidney makes sense. In person, Sidney knows she sometimes doesn’t. Some people like her awkwardness, other people find it jarring. As her profile rose, the divide became perhaps more stark.

Standing by Replay’s table, Jessica hands Sidney a glass of Champagne as a hello.

While Sidney is dressed in a sleek iridescent Vionnet sheath dress, Jessica is in Sonia Rykiel. They’ve both been given Bulgari jewels to wear for the night. Sidney’s piece is noticeably different to Jessica’s.

“Someone is popular,” Jessica notes, slipping a finger underneath the platinum and multi-colour diamond necklace, and tugging Sidney close to press a kiss to her cheek.

Behind them, a flash goes off. It isn’t difficult to guess what fashion journalists will be writing about tomorrow. Jessica laughs. Over her shoulder, Sidney catches sight of Natasha rolling her eyes at Jessica’s antics. It’s been years since she and Jessica fought, but they are yet to reconcile. By now, Sidney has more or less given up on them. They are too alike to want peace between them anytime soon.

“Don’t tweet that,” Sidney begs.

“Retweet,” Jessica corrects. “And I can’t make any promises.”

Shortly afterwards, they get pulled away from each other.

Time slips away from Sidney. There are so many familiar faces to catch up with. Sidney is in the middle of hearing about Nick Knights’ series of fashion documentaries when she receives a call from a representative of Versace asking her to meet them for a last minute fitting. In the middle of the night, Milan almost is a shadow of a city. In the backseat of the car Versace sent, Sidney rubs her now bare neck. Her Vionnet outfit will be collected in a few hours too.

At Versace, Sidney is helped out of her dress and into the unfinished pieces she will wear in a few hours. The day before, she attended the run through. Not all houses do practice run throughs. Versace was one of the few that insisted on them. They were always well organised, and carefully choreographed. At the time, only one of her outfits was ready. It wasn’t unusual. The last few days before a show were always whirlwinds.

Biting back a yawn, Sidney stands still as the half a dozen or so seamstresses work around her. Once or twice they step back and ask her to walk.

It’s fascinating to watch them work. Together they pull together the pieces of unfinished garment and create something exciting and bold. There is something quite daring about this collection. The silhouette of the look that they are finishing is straightforward and unembellished. The long slit in the skirt cuts up her thigh and almost to her hip. The waist falls just on the curve of her waist and her torso is broken into sections by the sharp edges of the racer back top. The crystal mesh fabric is more sculptured than tailored around her body. The look is very minimal, yet still feels very Versace, and Sidney is endlessly fascinated by the orchestrated way the seamstresses work as they bring Donatella’s vision to life.

It’s around 3am before they are satisfied.

With only an hour until Sidney’s 4am call time, she only has time to get back to her hotel room for a quick shower before a car arrives to take her back to the Gucci show. In the line-up, Sidney is placed behind Drake Burnette. She is perhaps the most level headed person in the entire venue – perhaps the entire industry at the moment. Even in the chaotic last minutes before the lights go down, she doesn’t seem flustered at all.

 

 

(Some facades are better than others).

 

 

In Paris, Sidney models at night. Usually nights are reserved for last minute run throughs, parties, events, or appearances. However after she finishes her final show of the day and the parties begin, Sidney does an editorial with Carine Roitfeld. In Dior and Prada and Isabel Marant fresh from the runway – in Dior’s case only an hour or two old – Sidney works like models in the 1950s used to. Once, this was how magazines worked. Shows in the day, shoots in the night. Now it is how Carine gets her exclusive for her magazines annual publication.

Another technicality, another thing to say.

It will be months until Carine’s book is published. In a few days most of the clothes Sidney is modelling will be sent to LA, just in time for actresses to cut their hems and add thin black belts to define their waists and wear them on various red carpets.

The contrast of red carpets and the cold concrete of the Parisian streets is strange, perhaps surreal. The shoot is outdoors, on deserted streets. There is a soft sound of chatter from the team, the distant sound of cars, a laugh from someone. The lighting makes Sidney almost blind. She feels like a moth, and around her the world changes shape. There is only Carine and the photographer, Josh Olins. Both old friends, tonight, they are Sidney’s mirror. They are the only thing that remains certain.

It’s all about trust. It’s always about trust.

The hours slip and fade and blur.  

Between shots, Sidney is called over to look at the images and give her opinion.

“You have taste,” someone comments.

Taste is subjective, but everyone other than Carine often forgets that.

Sidney is never exactly sure what she is meant to look for – to see – in any of her photographs. Like a flickering light in the darkness, Carine made Sidney into something other. Something blunt. The flinch before the punch, maybe.

There is something ephemeral about fashion. It’s the hook that pulled Sidney in as a child when she would spend hours poring over her mother’s dog-eared copies of Vogue. There is very particular kind beauty about the worlds and stories that photographers and fashion editors can create. Even a coat story can be magical in the right hands.

Fashion is women’s art form. Perhaps even now it is an underground art form. Often treated as trivial and derived as useless – even embarrassing – fashion is endlessly creative, exciting and innovative. It is a language of itself. Over the years it has been Sidney’s solace and freedom. For a while, it was her armour. Sometimes it still is. Sometimes it takes Sidney’s breath away. She still remembers snow catching in her lashes as she walked down John Galliano’s runway, laughing in delight as she waiting in the wings while Coco Irish danced down Jean Paul Gaultier’s runway, and she will never forget the feeling of the spotlight on her shoulders as she played a knight in Alexander McQueen’s chest inspired show. She doubts she’ll ever forget those moments, or the multitude of others she has been lucky enough to experience thus far in her career.

A month after she was concussed, when she should have been in the midst of fashion week but was instead pretty much house bound (or bedroom bound, if she’s honest), Balenciaga had surprised everyone by turning the footage she had shoot for their yet to be released perfume campaign into a hauntingly beautiful hologram. The image of her swaying in the Croatian sunlight was projected above the runway.

“It was a place card,” Nicolas Ghesquiere told her later. “Until you return.”

(It felt like a promise then and it was something she held on to).

Fashion is made of fleeting moments that transcend reality.

This shoot feels like it is capturing something too.

It’s early when Carine sends Sidney home. When she kisses Sidney goodbye, it takes her a moment for focus on Sidney. It is unlike Carine. Her focus defines her. This though, the production of her own magazine, fills her line of sight in a way few other challenges she’s approached ever have.

As Sidney is being driven back to her hotel, she listens to the messages Geno has left.

Geno is in Pittsburgh. Over the last few weeks Sidney misses more of his calls than she caught.

There are more flowers waiting for her in her room. More perfect red roses; scentless and all caught in time just on the verge of blossoming open. More roses she will leave behind when she checks out.

Trailing her fingertips over the edges of the petals, Sidney exhales slowly.

 

 

(Between the pages of her battered paperback copy of Emma Balfour’s poetry Sidney presses a few petals).

 

 

As a rule Sidney doesn’t do social media.

Or any media.

As far as things go, it’s a rule she sticks by. She’s been misquoted enough to know that no matter what she says, it will be twisted to express whatever someone else wants – whatever will sell. But still filled with the restless, unending energy that only working with Carine can produce, Sidney is sleepless and caught between moments. With only four hours before she has to be at her next show, this time Louis Vuitton, Sidney finds herself flicking through Geno’s twitter. He is smiling in every image, and every comment is followed by a score of parenthesis.

There are pictures of her too. She’s smiling at him in all of them.

 

 

Along with roses, Geno likes to buy her jewellery.

He is very Russian, Sidney thinks.  

Boxes with satin ribbons are tucked between blooms. The red of Cartier’s ribbon blends in with the petals, while the white of Tiffany & Co stands out, waiting for her to find. He likes to surprise her with them and quite clearly likes it when she wears the pieces. Gold and diamonds and emeralds; large and perhaps a little cumbersome to wear. She doesn't wear any jewellery normally. When it comes to that, she's pretty minimal. But it feels a little like she is carrying a piece of him with her.

After the Louis Vuitton show, Sidney meets up with Miranda who was in the front row watching. Her eyes sharpen when Sidney pushes her hair behind her ear and inadvertently exposes Geno’s latest gift.

“He has expensive taste,” she comments.

Sidney tries not to react, but Miranda bumps her hip against Sidney’s. She was always one of Sidney’s more intuitive friends and now no different. Though as she looks at Sidney, Sidney isn’t exactly sure what she sees.

“A birthday gift,” Sidney explains.

“Quite belated,” Miranda replies after a weighted beat.

 

 

The last few shows of Paris Fashion week are about endurance. While having her hair, make-up and nails done, Sidney catches Lindsay Nixson nodding off in the chair beside her. Her eyes flickering closed and her head dropping little by little. Her make-up artist catches her each time, his index finger placed just under her chin, steadying her jaw as he applies her eyeliner.

Sidney tries not to finch as the hair stylists and assistants set heavy waves in her hair. There is a fresh flat iron burn just at the base of her neck from one of the stylists at the Carven show yesterday. It aches as they blow dry her hair, the mix of heat and pressure as her hair is pulled away from her head with a boar brush making Sidney tense. After four weeks of having her hair blow dried and pin into curls and straighten and gelled and styled in every imaginable way multiple times a day, her scalp aches. Everything aches.

Completely surrounded by people, Sidney makes herself slow her breathing and relax her shoulders. Paris is always the hardest fashion week. Exhaustion wears at Sidney. She feels stripped raw and it takes everything she has not to flinch away from the hands touching her. As many shows Sidney has done – as much as she loves it – she’s never quite gotten used to the physicality of it. Or her physicality. She and Andreja had that, amongst other things, in common.

Andreja’s walking this show too. As the hair and make-up team finish with Sidney, Andreja arrives. Dressed casually, her pale blonde hair is pulled away from her bare, freckled face. They don’t get time to catch up until they’re in their first look, being photographed by the backstage photographers. As Bette Franke laughs at one of Miranda’s jokes, Andreja slips an arm around Sidney’s waist and pulls her close.

“Can you believe she’s opening?” she whispers into Sidney’s ear, watching Bette laugh.

“Yes,” Sidney says simply.

Andreja rolls her eyes.

“I like her.”

“You like everyone,” Andreja retorts.

It isn’t exactly true, but Sidney has never been that type of model who was defined by jealousy. Despite Andreja’s underappreciated streak of humour, she isn’t that kind of person either. The corner of Sidney’s mouth twitches into a smile. Andreja mirrors the expression.

“How are you?” she asks as the camera flashes go off around them.

It is one of those innocuous questions that Sidney usually smiles at and gives a one word answer. If that. From Andreja it isn’t. Sidney still smiles though, because she’s always found herself smiling around Andreja.

Andreja pinches her in retaliation. “Later, then.”

Sidney nods.

Together they turn away from each other and meet the camera lenses focusing on them without flinching.

 

 

Later is outside at an after party. Andreja’s boyfriend is DJing, and out in the crowd Sidney spots Natasha and Kate Moss dancing with Carly Cushnie. When Kate catches Sidney’s eye, she winks and blows a kiss. Sidney can’t help but smile. She missed this.

Lacing her arm through Sidney’s, Andreja holds Sidney close.

“Sasha says there is a boy,”

Sidney rolls her eyes. “Which Sasha?”

“All of them,” Andreja smiles, then after a beat admits, “Pivovarova.”

Sidney isn’t surprised. 

“Luss knew too, but she doesn’t know you,” Andreja adds.

Andreja does though. And Sidney knows her.

They’d met after Carine had ‘discovered’ Andreja. Sidney is used to how people could treat her. How sometimes people looked at her and saw an image or a name instead of a person. How they would reach to touch her like they owned her. Sidney has been modelling since she was a kid. She’s seen a lot of things. However it had shocked her how sexualised Andreja is. How openly people propositioned her. How they flirted with insults. How they expected her to be flattered.

Holding her hand at parties was a form of armour for both of them. Then it became something else, for a time. Around the time Andreja met her boyfriend, they drifted back to purely friends.

They’d never defined their relationship – they’d never talked about it, not even with each other. Even now, even looking back, Sidney isn’t quite sure of anything, only that she loved her. Still loved her.  

“So Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin,” Andreja prompts.

Sidney shrugs.

Andreja grins. “Would I like him?”

Sidney thinks of Geno and his kind eyes and large hands. She thinks Andreja might.

 

 

After the last Parisian party draws to a close Sidney flies into Pittsburgh. All airports look the same. Sidney isn’t sure about cities. While she was in New York, Geno told her about how much she’ll like his adopted hometown. Upon arrival, she mostly likes Geno’s smile. When they find each other at baggage claim, he lights up.

“You’re here,” he says, wrapping his arms around her. “I missed you.”

He says it so easily, so honestly. Sidney doesn’t have words to respond.

 

 

The following morning, Sidney wakes to Geno’s alarm. For a moment, she doesn’t know what it is, or where she is. She could be in Andreja’s apartment after a night yelling to be heard over the music at a random gig, at Jessica’s place with her trainer leaning on the buzzer, at Natasha’s penthouse over hearing her coo at her daughter, or Matteo’s home being woken by the sound of his automatic coffee maker beeping. It’s disorienting and despite sleeping on the flight, Sidney’s body is still more or less running on Paris time.

Groaning, Geno leans across her and turns the alarm off. As he does, Sidney feels him kiss the nape of her neck before he gets up.

“Practice,” he mutters.

Practice. Right.

As if from underwater, Sidney watches Geno pad across around his room.

As Geno goes into his bathroom and turns on his shower, Sidney feels herself drift back to sleep. It’s a kind of deep, over tired sleep. Post Paris fashion week is the worst hangover. If Sidney’s lucky, she usually tries to sleep it off over a few extra days in Paris. But even then it takes her a week or more to wind down properly.

Before Geno leaves, he wakes her gently. “I’ll be home at lunch.”

Sidney manages a bleary nod.

Closing her eyes, Sidney exhales.

An indeterminable time later Sidney wakes to the sound to Geno arriving home. Stretching, Sidney blinks awake. Sleep clings to her stubbornly. There is a little bit of light sneaking in from under the curtains and door. The angle is different than it was when Geno left. When he crawls back into bed, his hair is damp and the collar of his t-shirt is wet.

“How are you?” he asks. “You look better.”

She doubts that is true. There is a sweetness to his lie, though. She tells him that.

He makes a faux offended face. She can’t help but reach for his collar and tug him down to lay next to him.

Geno’s bedroom is dark, but warm. Sidney could be anywhere, but she is here with him. Turning, Sidney rolls so she is facing Geno. He tastes of toothpaste when she kisses him and his skin smells of soap. Slow with sleep, her hands fumble as she slides them under the hem of his shirt to touch his warm skin. There is something so easy about kissing Geno. It’s been almost a month since she last touched him. (Since he last touched her). It feels like no time at all has past. They trade kisses until her jaw begins to ache.

Breaking away, Geno peels off her t-shirt.

Settling back between her thighs, Geno’s mouth is hot as he leans down to kiss the base of her throat and his hands are sure as he reaches to thumb one of her nipples. Threading her fingers through his hair, Sidney closes her eyes as he kisses his way down to her chest to flicks his tongue over the tip of her nipple. Shuddering underneath him, she holds him close. Her hairline is damp with sweat and when she rolls her hips up against his hardening cock, he whines in the back of his throat. It’s not quite enough, and too much at the same time. The friction of his cock, the way he circles his thumb around her clit. Her blood thrums underneath her skin, but she doesn’t think she’ll come from this. It’s been weeks since she got more than four hours of sleep in a row. Her body aches with exhaustion. There is an edge to how her nerves are interpreting Geno’s touch, his hot mouth sucking her nipples into peaks, and the slickness between her thighs. An over tired, over exposed ache. But it’s not about coming.

Biting the taunt skin under her breast, he shifts his weight a little and hooks a finger through her underwear, pulling it down her legs. Bring up her knees, she makes it easier. Sleep clings to her, and her limbs feel heavy. Kissing the inside of her knee, Geno is almost like a teenage boy as he quickly strips out of his t-shirt and boxers, and fumbles with a condom before pressing inside her.

With his knees pressed into the mattress and an arm braced by her side, he rocks slowly into her.

Together they fall into a steady rhythm. It’s different to the blinding way she wanted him in Moscow, the way she ached for him and been lit up by his touch. Sidney feels herself drift a little. The weight of Geno’s body, the stretch of his cock inside her, the sure way his hands take her apart; it’s so good. With her legs pushed up around his ribs, the muscles in the back of her thighs ache in the best way as he leans down to kiss her neck, her shoulders, before she tilts his head up so he will kiss her properly.

Uncoordinated, they manage to kiss slick and opened mouthed. His sucks a little on her tongue, before breaking away to groan. She can sense him getting closer. His skin is flushed and she can feel the tension in his body under her hands. The tremble of his stomach muscles, the strength in his hips, and the way he shudders when she presses her fingers into his flesh. He comes like that, his face pressed into the crock of her neck, gasping for breath and shaking.

Letting her thighs slide back to the bed, Sidney holds him as he slowly catches his breath. 

She missed him. She missed him so much.

 

 

The following day, Sidney makes it out of bed. In daylight, Geno’s house is larger than it felt when he led her through it to his bedroom upon her arrival. The carpet is lush under her feet, but much of the house feels empty. Haphazardly furnished, Geno has beds and TVs and a couch covered in dog hair. He also has a large stuffed fish on the wall. He caught during the off season, he tells her proudly while they are eating breakfast. Sidney isn’t quite sure what to think.

When Geno leaves for practice, Sidney doesn’t quite know what to do.

For an hour or so she catches up on all her missed calls and emails. Neither of her agents particularly fathoms why she is in Pittsburgh of all places, but they indulgently ask after Geno. Articulating an answer is strangely difficult. After so many years, her agents are more or less her friends. She has known them since she was a teenager. They are asking because they care about her. Over the years Sidney has asked the same sort of questions about her friends’ various boyfriends and girlfriends. Yet for all that he is uncomplicated, Geno’s difficult to explain.

With Andreja, she and Sidney shared for many of the same friends and worked with so many of the same people. As protective and private as they both were (and still are), around people they trusted, it was easy to talk about her.

Taylor is curious when she asks about him.

“You’ve known him for a month,” she says more than once.

It’s more like six weeks.

Six weeks and she’s sitting in his living room wearing his oversized cardigan. She pushes the too long sleeves up her arms.

“Be careful,” Trina makes Sidney promise when Taylor hands the phone over to her.

It feels too late for that.

She thinks her mother knows that. No one knows Sidney better than her, and for all that Sidney’s career has taken her away from her, it hasn’t changed her relationship with her family. If anyone can understand Geno, it is probably Trina.

Twisting her toes into the lush carpet, Sidney eyes Geno’s enormous dog, Jeffery, and lets her mother change subjects to the talks her agents are in with Miu Miu for Sidney to be the face of their first perfume.  So far, it was looking promising. Patrizio Bertelli, had spent most of the Prada after party discussing it with her and afterwards has sent her an unreleased sample for her to try and give feedback on.

Jeffery is completely disinterested in the discussion. Seemingly fast asleep, he only perks up after Sidney ends her call and walks into the kitchen to grab his leash.

Outside Sidney sees something she must have completely missed in her sleep deprived state. At either side of the stairs leading to Geno’s garden are huge sculptures of creatures from sci-fi films. Sidney has never seen anything quite like it. The contrast between the traditional garden and the muted glean of the metal sculptures is something she can’t help snapping a picture of. She sends it to Marc Jacobs who she knows will get a laugh out of it. 

Tugging on his leash, Jeffery breaks Sidney from her thoughts and pulls her forward.

Geno’s neighbourhood is leafy and the streets are wide. One or two cars drive through them every now and then, but otherwise the quiet is undisturbed. Occasionally, Jeffery stops to sniff at trees and investigate the neatly trimmed grass. The sun is warm on Sidney’s back.

Pittsburgh isn’t Paris, but this feels peaceful.

 

 

They both have busy schedules. Geno’s is planned out months and months in advance. It’s something that Sidney doesn’t particularly have much experience with. Sometimes she’s booked a month or two in advance, other times she’ll be contacted a few days before a shoot. Her schedule shifts under her feet, especially after the S/S season. Carine wants to add another editorial to her book. They’d briefly spoken about an additional shoot at her charity gala in Paris. Carine has a vision of Sidney and Lara as guardian angels for her latest find – this time the new face of Balenciaga.

When Sidney tells Geno, she isn’t sure what she is expecting, but his face drops.

“Paris?” he asks.

Sidney nods.

She – she doesn’t quite know what to say.

They both travel. Geno’s job is just as demanding as hers. His time is just as in demand as hers.

“It’s only for a few days,” she tells him, fiddling with her iPhone.

She doesn’t know what to say. (It feels she should know).

 

 

Sidney manages to time her flight so she and Lara arrive within the hour. Lara makes a face when she gets into the car to find Sidney waiting for her.   

“You didn’t have to wait for me,”

Sidney shrugged. She knew that. She wanted to though.

Nova Scotia felt so far away from everything and everyone. There are a lot of people in Sidney’s life, but Lara has always been one of the most important. Neither of them have had a good year. Sidney isn’t sure if it’s too early to say they’ve come out the other side. Maybe all she can say is they’re both still standing. Sometimes that’s the hardest thing. Sometimes it’s the only thing that matters.

The shoot with Carine is an old Parisian apartment. In the past, many of the shoots Sidney has done with her have had a sharpness to them, this is light drenched and soft around the edges. Carine dresses Sidney and Lara in pale colours, and curl and crimps their hair until it is almost stiff around their faces. In front of the camera, they move like parenthesis. Mirroring each other, they protectively gathering Juliet Ingleby close as Carine’s assistants toss handfuls of feathers down over them. Juliet is Carine’s new find. After being signed to an exclusive contract for Balenciagia’s S/S show, Carine had booked her to play a reappearing role within her new issue of CR Book.

When they break to take individual shoots, Sidney and Juliet watches Lara as she is helped into a pair of white feather wings. They’re heavy but Lara regains her balance within moments. She makes it look effortless.

When they were teenagers, they met in a Parisian stairwell at one of the numerous cattle call castings their agencies sent them on each day. While Sidney was with Ford, Lara was with Elite. For the most part, their agencies didn’t make a huge difference. Their living situations were more or less similar, as was the way casting agents liked to talk them in French as if they couldn’t understand what they were saying. While Sidney’s career took off shortly after that point, it took editors and designers a few years to open their eyes and see Lara.

Sidney remembers spending Christmas in Japan with Lara and seeing the exhaustion she took such pain to conceal. She was working at a rate that could not be sustained, and was treated more like a product than a person. The shoots she managed to book were catalogue and commercial – a far cry from the high fashion editorials Sidney was doing each week. The industry likes to state how it has changed, but Sidney isn’t sure if it has. She knows Taylor has to carry the burden of being ‘Sid the Kid’s’ younger sister, and it is a burden to carry. Sidney isn’t naive. However, Sidney hopes that the weight of her name is one which will shield her from some of the experiences Sidney and her friends have had.

Later when Sidney steps back in front of the camera, she tilts her head to the side, and lets her eyes close. Feathers float down from above her, landing on her shoulders and in her hair, lightly brushing against her cheeks and catching in her eyelashes. From the side of the frame, a fan is turned on. Shifting her weight, Sidney opens her eyes. Behind the camera, Carine directs Sidney carefully. Almost an echo of how the shoot began, Sidney reflects Carine’s movements, appropriating and translating them onto film.

Time seems to slip away from them. Everything feels organic and effortless.

 

 

A few years ago Carine called Sidney the ‘anti-model’.

Sidney isn’t sure if it’s better or worse than any of the other things she’s been called over the years.

 

 

Sidney meant it when she told Geno a few days. However her return to Pittsburgh from Paris goes via NYC where she is booked for an editorial for WWD.

 

 

Seeing Geno starts to feel like a game of tag, and she’s always it.

They manage to meet up in NYC.

Geno is on a road trip, and Sidney stays after her shoot so she can watch his game and have dinner afterwards.

The game is brutal. Or so Sidney is told. After getting stuck in typical NYC traffic, she arrives part way through the first period. Geno arranges tickets for her. They are up in a box. A team box, she thinks. One of the injured players is there. After a beat, Sidney recognises him as one of Geno’s alternate captains. Jordan Staal. Tall and very blonde, he is recovering from an ankle injury of some kind. When he greats her, he leans into her space.

“You’re boy is on fire,” he tells her with a crocked smirk.

Showing her to their seats, he haphazardly catches her up on what she missed. Sidney’s father was a hockey fan. Is still one, Sidney supposes. Growing up hockey was a nebulous thing to her. It was always on the edge of her focus; something she knew about but never particularly had an interest in. It was something people used in varying degrees. In Canada, hockey was an easy form of generalised small talk. Favourite colour, favourite team. Everyone had one. Everyone had stock answers.

Ironically, her default player of choice was Mario Lemieux.

He is there in the box and greets her warmly.

He carries himself with a similar physicality as Jordan and Geno, but Sidney catches moments where the physical toll on his body shows. If Sidney hadn’t made her career out of her own physicality and reading and reacting to others, she wouldn’t notice. As it is, she tries to politely slide her eyes over the moment where his vulnerability is exposed. From what she knows, he has been very good to Geno over the years. There is nothing but awe and respect in Geno’s voice when he speaks of Mario and how he made Geno’s NHL career possible.

During intermission Mario asks her about Paris and about how she is finding Pittsburgh so far. Appearing genuinely interested, he shares stories of his and his wife’s holiday in Provence. Although he speaks Québécois French, he is familiar with Metropolitan French. It’s a bit of a patchwork conversation in parts, but he has a way about him which puts her at ease.

She understands why Geno likes him.

 

 

The Penguins win narrowly in over time.

When Geno meets up with her, he is smiling so brightly. Happiness fills him in such a beautiful way.

In NYC no one looks twice at him - well, they don't once he isn't out with the  _entire_  team. They go to a restaurant that a friend of a friend of hers told her was good. The wine list is. Geno knocks his knees against hers when they sit down at a tiny corner table. Neither of them are made for tiny corner tables. They are all legs and knees, but his gaze is fond as she orders them a bottle of white to go with their meal.

Although he tries, Geno is dead on his feet. A few of Sidney’s friends had vague plans of meeting up later on in the evening and finally meeting Geno. Apart from a few of Sidney’s Russian friends, hardly any of them know anything about him. However it quickly becomes clear that Geno is fading. By the time desert arrives, he is apologising for yawning and she’s already sent a few texts calling off after dinner drinks.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she tells him, and it is.

Perhaps it is selfish, but she likes having him to herself.

As they are leaving, a street style blogger politely asks to take a photograph. 'Model off duty' style has become a thing. Sidney’s used to it. Geno isn't so much. It's more than a little charming how he straightens his shoulders and breaths in. Afterwards, when it's just the two of them, she pokes his non-existent stomach because really. 

 

 

In the elevator up to the studio Sidney is apartment-sitting, Geno wraps his around her waist and tucks her close.

It’s –

There is something so casually disarming about Geno.

This time last year she was stuck in a nondescript hotel room in the middle of nowhere, with the flu. She held it together for the shoot, but once she got back to her suite, she couldn't stop trembling. And she couldn't unzip her dress. She forgot to get changed at the shoot and had gone back to the hotel in one of the dresses they were shooting and found she couldn’t get out of it. She was shaking and had an awful headache and she suddenly felt on the verge of tears because she couldn't unzip the damn dress.  

Geno is someone she couldn't have imagined then.

It is strange how quickly things can change; how one choice, one person, can change everything.

 

 

Sidney gets back to Pittsburgh before Geno. When she goes out to pick up some fresh groceries, she impulsively buys a bunch of ranunculus and peonies for his house. When she gets home, she discovers that Geno does not have a vase. 

Of course he doesn't. 

She ends up cutting the stems down and putting them into drinking glasses which she scatters around his house. It is either very frat house or very chic. Sidney can't decide. If nothing else it is colourful. 

When Geno gets back, he is exhausted. He drops his bags and manages to strip down to his boxers before crashing. When Sidney joins him in bed she steps over his abandoned dress shirt and tie. In the morning she wakes up to him looking at her. His face is squished against his pillow and his hair is all over the place. Using her fingers, Sidney smooths it more or less back in shape. He's such a silly boy really. 

There is something very clumsy about Geno. For all that Jessica and Lara emphasised his many ex’s, the more time Sidney spends with him the more she thinks that he is the inexperienced one when it comes to relationships, not her.

Over breakfast he says, “You bought me flowers." 

He is smiling a stupid smile, the kind that makes him look like a kid and she can't help but smile back at him. 

 

 

Part of Geno’s job as the captain of the Penguins is to be the face both of Penguins hockey and the Penguins charity efforts. The latter is something Geno takes great pride in. He donates money and his time generously and generally leads by example. He does have favourites, and it’s clear he’s been looking forward to the Penguins & Paws charity calendar shoot. Immediately upon arrival, he is drawn to the clumsy puppies with their soft fur, huge paws and wagging tails. 

It’s adorable, really.

For the most part, Sidney is happy to sit up the back and watch. A week ago she was in the middle of a murky, freezing English lake trying to look serene, floating in a white lace Preen dress. The warm sunshine is a nice against her bare shoulders. Part way through, the shoot pauses while the photographer irons out some technical issues they seem to be having with their digital camera set up. Pens PR team take the chance to film a short interview with Geno, though with three steel grey Great Dane puppies in his arms he isn’t the most attentive subject.

She however, is. Or at least, she is experienced enough not to be surprised when they turn the camera towards her.  

“As a professional supermodel, how do you think Geno is doing?” Jen asks.

Sidney can’t help but grin. Geno’s had almost as much experience in front of a camera as she has. She says as much, and it makes Geno and the Pens TV crew laugh.

It’s not really about being a ‘professional’ or ‘supermodel’ or whatever they are implying by that terminology. The photographs are meant to be cute. There isn’t anything wrong with that. Sidney’s never been particularly commercial. She has done a few contemporary campaigns for T by Alexander Wang and 3.1 Phillip Lim, but even after their success, Sidney doesn’t often get approached to do editorials in Cosmo or Elle. Matteo kindly says she doesn’t translate well. Many of her friends do though. Miranda, in particular, has been embraced by both the editorial and the commercial sides of the fashion world. Everything she touches tends to turn to gold.

In the right hands, with the right lighting and styling, Geno’s long limbs and unguarded eyes could be made into something disarming. When Sidney was in NYC, Marc had wishfully agreed, commenting that if only Sidney had met Geno a few years earlier he could have done something with him. Marc’s eye is remarkable, and Sidney thinks Geno probably would have been an ideal for a Louis Vuitton Core Values campaign. The Russian market would have embraced him. However that doesn’t mean that this shoot is trivial in comparison.

“You are too nice,” Geno comments, his cheeks a little flushed.

Stealing a puppy from his arms, Sidney shakes her head.

Geno doesn’t need any tips or tricks.

Later when the shoot is resumed, Sidney watches as Geno smiles happily from the sidelines. There is nothing contrived about him, and the honesty of that is what Sidney can’t help but respond to.

 

 

On the eve of one of Geno’s rare days off, Sidney and Geno go out for dinner with Jordan and his wife Heather. Double dating is a new experience for Sidney. She thinks it might be for Geno too. He made such a face when Jordan called to extend the invitation, before teasing him ruthlessly. Jordan probably was going to get the last laugh though, as Geno had chosen to wear a tie tonight, which even Sidney knew was too much effort.

While searching for spare change for parking, Sidney finds wads of hastily scrunched up paper crammed in Geno’s glove box. Uncrumpling them, it takes Sidney a moment to realise what she finds.

‘Pittsburgh’s Fashion Forward Centre’ – is the copy of the Pittsburgh Press social article.

There are about two, maybe three dozen photocopied copies of the same image.

“Nealsy thinks he’s funny,” Geno explains with a flippant shrug.

Sidney isn’t sure how to react.

The picture is of them in NYC.

 

 

(Sidney knows about guys who date models to date models. Sidney’s meet more than her fair share.

It’s been a while since she met someone embarrassed by her.)

 

 

When Taylor is invited to attend a show jumping clinic, Sidney manages to make time to see her. It’s been a while since they were last in the same place in at the same time and Sidney misses her. Trina picks Sidney up at the airport and they manage to arrive in time to watch Taylor warming up for her morning lesson with Aoife Clark, the visiting Irish FEI eventer.  

Taking their seats in the stands, Trina pulls out her notepad and Sidney helps herself to the flask of hot chocolate Trina packed in her bag.

In the arena, they watch as Taylor’s Dutch Warmblood knocks a pole off the joker fence.

“She always goes for it,” Trina comments.

Sidney nods. Where other riders let their horses warm up and take some the easier jumps  to build their confidence, Taylor almost always tackles the most challenging jump first. It is a habit her coach has been trying to break Taylor from. With Taylor’s previous horse, she could get away with it. However there is a difference between a schoolmaster and a young horse. Taylor is learning that. She might be talented, but with horses nothing is achieved overnight.

At the sound of her mares hind hooves hitting the poles, Taylor makes a face.

In the last few months she’s scaled back her training in order to focus on her school commitments. It isn’t unusual amongst riders her age, but it’s clear to Sidney and Trina that Taylor is feeling a little unpractised and keen to impress.

“Next time she’ll have it,” Sidney predicts.

Trina grins. “If she has her way, she will.”

However before Taylor can line her mare up to attempt the jump again, Aoife calls the riders in and begins the lesson. Settling back into her seat, Sidney listens as he talks about the importance of balance and riding deep. By her side, Trina is studiously taking notes in her spiral notebook. It’s been a while since she was actively involved in Sidney’s career, but Trina hasn’t changed. She’s still Sidney and Taylor’s biggest fan. She cares so much about their passions. She always took them seriously. Sidney didn’t realise how unique that was when she was a teenager.

After the morning lesson has concluded, Sidney and Trina meet up with Taylor as she is untacking her horse. Her once neat hair is sweaty and her neatly ironed shirt is wrinkly, and she looks so happy when she sees them. Wrapping her arms around Sidney, she hugs Sidney tightly and tries to lift her up off the ground. Sidney can’t help but laugh.

“You came,” Taylor exclaims.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Sidney grins. “You were so good out there.”

They were. Sidney’s always loved watching Taylor ride. She lights up when she’s around horses.  She always has. Together the three of them help Taylor get her horse untacked, washed and settled into the stall with a biscuit of Lucerne hay.

“How’s Geno?” Taylor asks when they sit down for lunch.

“Good,” Sidney smiles. “He got a hat trick last night.”

“Did he score it for you?” Taylor teases.

Sidney rolls her eyes and in the corner of her eye, she catches her mother doing the same thing. (Though knowing Geno, he might have; he and Taylor are not dissimilar when it comes to their attempts to impress people).

“Are you going to bring him home to Christmas?”

Sidney shrugs. “I don’t think he’ll have enough time to fly out. The Pens are playing the Hurricane’s on the 27th.”

Taylor frowns. “That’s a pity. I was going to knit him a Christmas sweater and see if would wear it.”

The image makes Sidney snort. She doesn’t think Geno needs any prompting to wear ridiculous things, not even to impress her sister.

“You can still knit him a sweater,” Trina comments. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”

Taylor makes a face. “I was joking.”

Trina smiles in the way only mothers can. “Handmade gifts are thoughtful and I know Grandma would love to teach you how to knit.”

Their Grandmother can’t actually knit. She thinks she can, but she really can’t. She attempted to crochet an eventing bonnet when Taylor bought her mare. Made from yellow, orange and green wool, it looked very colourful but not very professional in the show ring.

“On the topic of Geno, are we allowed to meet him anytime soon?” Trina asks.

Sidney shrugs. It’s not like she’s hiding him away.

“We’d like to meet him,” Trina says, and Sidney knows that and she knows this is her mother’s way of reaching out.

“You will,” she promises.

Taylor rolls her eyes.

 

 

In the New Year, Vionnet brings Sidney to Florence for their latest demi-couture campaign. Once there one of the stylists dyes Sidney’s hair almost black, and straightens it until it lies like a sheet of paper against her back.  After the conclusion of the three day shoot she is invited out for drinks by Hussein Chalayan and Jean-Paul Goude. Although Matteo is no longer associated with the company, he finds Sidney by the bar almost like clockwork. It could be a coincidence, but with him it most probably isn’t.

With a warm smile, he captures her hands in his and kisses her cheek hello.

“Sidney,” he says. “You look well.”

He looks resplendent, but he always does. She says as much and it makes him tilt his head back and laugh.

“You are too good for my ego,” he tells her, before buying her a glass of a vintage he mentioned the last time they saw each other. 

Over the years Matteo has been somewhat of a constant in her life. A week after she first moved to Paris, he asked her to dinner during a Valentino fitting. She isn’t sure if he knew how old she was at the time. The date turned into a company dinner when Giancarlo Giammetti overheard and intervened.  

Even now it’s hard not to remain unaffected by his easy charm. There is such warmth in his eyes.  

It goes both ways. Sidney has always known that.

They both know that.

She knows how she disarms him. It’s a powerful feeling. Yet equally he has always made her feel so vulnerable. He is a good friend, perhaps one of her closest friends. But although there was always a pull between them, neither of them was willing to push. Not when monogamy wasn’t something he could give her. Or not something he could give her yet. She never held that against him. Nor did he hold it against her either.

There is a wistfulness to Matteo tonight. Sidney feels it too.

“Your heart is no longer purely your own anymore,” Matteo comments at the end of the evening when he drives her back to her hotel.

It isn’t. Sidney doesn’t think it ever will be again.

Perhaps it once could have been Matteo’s. Perhaps there is no perhaps.

 

 

Geno is messy.

He inhabits space like he’s used to having people clean up after him; his cleaner here, and probably his mother in Russia. She isn’t sure how he survives road trips. James Neal jokes about Geno’s many mishaps when he comes over. Geno makes faces when he does. Sidney can’t say she dislikes that. But it does make packing harder for Sidney.

“Have you seen my Proenza Schouler jacket?” she calls over her shoulder.

From the steamy bathroom, Geno pauses as he rubs his towel through his wet hair. It’s clear from his expression that her question went over his head. 

“The green one,” Sidney simplifies.

Geno shrugs. “Car?” he suggests.

With a taxi on the way, Sidney isn’t sure if she has time to do another sweep of the house. It’s annoying. Sidney doesn’t normally lose track of her things, but then she’s used to living out of suitcase. By this point, Sidney has packing down to an art form. Geno might return from a road trip missing socks, but Sidney doesn’t. Padding out from the bathroom, Geno looks half asleep. His skin is flushed and his hair is curling against his neck. The elastic of his boxers is loose enough that they have slipped low enough to reveal the edges of a nasty bruise forming on his hip from a rough check in the game earlier that night. 

“I can drive you,” he offers again.

It’s a temping offer he completely ruins by yawning.

Smiling, Sidney shakes her head.

 

 

A day after she arrives in Tokyo for her editorial for Vogue Netherlands, Geno calls to say he found her jacket. He sounds so happy. From the make-up chair as Guido Palau sets her hair in soft waves, Suki Waterhouse blows kisses to Anja Rubik and Mark Miller. Sidney rolls her eyes and manages to thank Geno without getting distracted. Or to distracted. It seems like everyone knows everything and finds it hilarious that she’s getting phone calls from her pro-athlete boyfriend. The pro-athlete part is almost always emphasised even though the only person on the shoot who has heard of Geno before is Anja.

She rolls her eyes when pressed for details. “He is ubiquitous in Russia.”

Sidney eyes her, “When were you last in Russia?”

No one is listening.

“Is he their version of Tom Brady?” Mark asks Anja, delighted.

“Should I call you Gisele?” Suki jokes.

Sidney snorts. She should be that lucky.

It’s a while before Sidney is able to call Geno back. By then she’s able to catch him as he’s getting up. He sounds so sleepy over the phone. Mornings are not his favourite part of the day by a long shot. Closing her eyes, Sidney can almost imagine herself back in Pittsburgh with him.

In between yawns he tells her about how James has taken over the couch and how Jeffery misses her.

“He whines at night,” Geno says.

“He wants to sleep on the bed,” Sidney laughs a little. “That’s why he whines.”

Jeffery probably is sleeping on their bed. Sidney knows Geno. He has such a kind heart when it comes to animals. He is horrible at saying no. Sidney was surprised he was able to give the Great Dane puppies back at the Penguins & Paws charity calendar shoot. Though, Sidney doesn’t think she is much better. Taylor has to hide the carrots whenever Sidney is around her horse.  

Tomorrow morning she will fly back to him.

“Home,” Geno agrees, sounding soft and happy.

“Home,” Sidney agrees, and Matteo was right. Her heart is Geno’s.

Sidney doesn’t know quite when it happened. She can’t pin point it to a moment, but it wouldn’t surprise her if it happened back in Moscow at Ovechkin’s runway show when Geno sat down next to her. More than anything else, she remembers how gentle he was. Kind hands and a gentle heart; that is him. She didn’t stand a chance.

 

 

On the surface, the Plates and Skates gala is a rather low key event. It might be black tie, but there is a comradery amongst Geno’s teammates and the Penguins franchise as a whole. In the lead up, Geno takes some of the rookies tux shopping. The antics are filmed and shared with the Penguins fan base who are delighted by Beau’s confusion over what exactly black tie means, and Borts refusal to admit his inability to successfully tie a bow tie.

Yet on the night itself, even with Geno smiling openly by her side, there is something surprisingly intense about the event. Over the past few weeks Sidney had been peripherally aware of her appearance in dozens of social pages in the local papers. Yet there is no careful distance in the way the flashes of cameras going off intensify upon her arrival, nor in the way the Penguins film crew finds and focuses on her when she enters the venue.

The seating plan of the gala – of any gala’s – is never an accident. Although Sidney doesn’t know anyone at her table (or the gala itself), she knows enough to realise that they are influential in some way related to the Penguins or Pittsburgh. Or both. Apparently they know her. She supposes that she should know them. While she may be here as Geno's date, she isn't off duty. For a few minutes she has a rather awkward conversation with a couple who are either very friendly with Geno or have been following his career closely.

When Geno appears, he is wearing a pristine white apron over his tuxedo and carrying two bottles of wine.

“White or red?” he asks, grinning.

“Are you my waiter for the evening?” Sidney asks, delighted. Geno didn’t tell her about this.

“For as long as you want me,” he tells her, smiling in that way of his.

This makes Sidney roll her eyes, but she can feel herself blush and to stop herself from doing something stupid she points to the bottle of white wine.

When the music starts up, Geno pulls Sidney to her feet and onto the near empty dance floor. He is a horrible dancer, but they manage a half-hearted waltz. Dressed impeccably, with a single gardenia flower pinned to his lapel of his beautifully tailored tuxedo, he keeps telling her awful jokes and making her laugh.

Geno distracts Sidney for most of the night. It’s not professional or polite, however it’s hard to care when Geno is guiding her around the dance floor with his hand carefully placed in the small of her back.  Completely at ease, she can’t take her eyes off him. It isn’t until one of the other gala attendees shoos him away, that Sidney realises how she had inadvertently commandeering his time. The attendee introduces herself as Nathalie Lemieux. It’s an unnecessary introduction – everyone knows the Lemieux family in Pittsburgh.

“Geno’s told us so much about you,” she says as she sits down in a vacant chair next to Sidney.

Geno’s told Sidney very little about the Lemieux’s, or anyone else attending the gala if Sidney is honest.

“Your dress is gorgeous,” Nathalie compliments. “I haven’t seen anything like it before. Is it next season?”

“Giambattista Valli Spring/Summer,” Sidney confirms, unable to help herself.

It was such a glorious show. The gown wasn’t her favourite out of the collection. Neither was it something she’d normally choose, but it is a good fit for this kind of event. The soft purple abstract petal print is carefully draped around her torso, emphasising her waist, before flowing over her hips to the ground. It’s not particularly a statement dress, though that was partly why she chose it. It was the kind of gown that was straight forward. It easily translated as ‘beautiful’ and photographed well.

A few years ago, she would have never worn a dress like she picked for tonight. Back then, the more she looked like a piece of sculpture, the less likely people were to try and touch her. At least in theory. The sculpted lines of haute couture and jewels at night and tailored blazer, black jeans with slightly faded seams, and dark glasses during the day could only do so much. At sixteen it shocked her how easily shy was translated to aloof and even quicker to bitch. Now it doesn’t.

Nathalie’s question is a variation on one Sidney has been asked many times before. So many times, she has lost count. Although from the outside it's a frivolous ice breaker, Nathalie seems to understand that it isn’t. Or that it doesn’t have to be. Tone is everything, and Sidney recognises the differences. Nathalie is wearing a gorgeous deep navy Max Mara gown. The simples, clean lines create a strong silhouette. It suits Nathalie. She wears it with the easy, innate confidence of a woman who knows who she is. Sidney is certain Ludovica Maramotti and her brothers would approve.

There is an easy charm to Nathalie. It is clear that she takes pride in her role within the franchise. With great skill, she draws Sidney into conversation without Sidney even noticing. By the time she excuses herself to find Mario, they have discussed upcoming fashion exhibit at the MET in detail and the Carnegie Museum of Art’s recent acquisition of a glorious evening cape by Elsa Schiaparelli (according to Nathalie they managed to outbid the Philadelphia Museum of Art), and she has convinced Sidney to play in her annual charity golf tournament for the Lemieux Foundation.

Nathalie also invites Sidney and Geno over for dinner with her family.

When Sidney finds Geno with a few of his teammates – all doing a subpar job as wait staff – he looks a little blindsided when she tells him about their dinner plans with the Lemieux’s. Jordan and James snort. Apparently it is an inside joke. Paul Martin shakes his head and explains. Or attempts too. Sidney isn’t quite sure she understands, but then, she’s always been close to the designers, editors and photographers she’s worked with other the years. She house sits for Grace Coddington, holidays with Kate and Laura Mulleavy, and acted as tour guide for Taylor and Leonetta Luciano Fendi when they came to NYC to look at colleges.

Geno’s teammates are mostly young guys, with a scattering of more mature players like Sergei Gonchar and Paul. There is a comfortable confidence about Paul. Proven, even. The younger guys look to him in a similar way Geno looks to Sergei. The team hierarchy seems to allow for a few different friendship groups. Even from the short time Sidney has spent in Pittsburgh, she can pick most of them out. She can also recognise the players who grew up with posters of her on their wall.

It’s always quite obvious. Men are never as good as they think they are when it comes to concealing their reactions.

Nudity isn’t novel in the fashion industry, but it always seems edgy for some reason. She’s certain that when Geno googled her (because he certainly did), on the first page of images there were photographs of her nude. Sidney doesn’t regret those shoots. The vast majority were beautiful and challenging and arresting, and were important parts of the editorials they formed part of. However she isn’t sure if she would want Taylor to be asked, as Sidney was, and put in the position where a ‘yes’ was the expected answer. She should feel lucky to be asked, that was always implied. Technically Sidney could have said no, but as a teenager on the verge of making it, she didn’t know she could. She didn’t feel like she could say no to anything.

There are always other girls – younger girls, girls who will say yes – that is unsaid.

A lot of things are unsaid in the fashion industry.

Sidney thinks about the photographers who ask, and the fashion editors who ask. There are some people Sidney doesn’t work with. There are some people that she would never let work with Taylor. That is unsaid too.

 

 

Dinner with the Lemieux’s happens a few days later, after two games that the Penguins win with ease, and numerous articles proclaiming Sidney the best dressed of the night. Geno ties for best dressed male with Kris Letang, which seems to both comfort and irritate Geno. It mostly amuses Sidney, though a part of her twists a little as the size of her Geno sized blind spot starts to become clear. For all that Geno has never felt the need to be particularly private about their relationship and she has never asked him too, it’s a little bit startling seeing images of them hand in hand.

Sidney doesn’t do public anything. There is a vulnerability to it that Sidney has always hated and avoided if she could.

She doesn’t know how she was so oblivious.

The extent of her carelessness with Geno takes her by surprise when she reads between the lines of the articles. Rather than a girlfriend, Sidney finds herself written as a distraction. One who he is skipping practices for and who is attempting to convince him to leave the Penguins and sign with a New York based team.

The whole thing takes her by surprise. (She isn’t used to that either).

“We know it isn’t true,” Mario says as he carves the roast.

He is smiling, as if the rumour amuses him.

There are some rumours that aren’t rumours though.

Geno blushes when Mario jokes about him skipping practices.

“Optional practices,” he says, blushing. “Optional.”

Sidney didn’t know that. She doesn’t know how she didn’t know that.

As the captain of the Penguins, this, according to the journalist circling, is an example of poor leadership.

“They always say that about Russians,” Geno dismisses.

That could be true. Sidney doesn’t know.

Mario nods. “And they said it about Jaro.”

This makes Nathalie shake her head. “Sometimes they had good cause to.”

“One way or another he always gave them something to write about,” Mario agrees, with a hint of a smile, "He still does."

“Me, not so much,” Geno tells Sidney with a smile. “I’m boring.”

Sidney finds herself smiling back at him. (She always finds herself smiling at Geno).

Geno is the most talented hockey player in the world. He’s an Olympian and a World champion. There is no one else like him on the ice, or off. Beloved by his friends and family, he is so incredibly kind.  He’s one of the most generous people Sidney knows. She is so lucky to have him in her life. However Geno has a contract with the Penguins. Not her.

“You’re not too bad,” Sidney tells him.

She doesn’t know hockey, but she does know Geno. When it comes to hockey, she thinks she has to trust him. The Penguins are his responsibility, not hers. He isn’t her responsibility either. She doesn’t need anyone to push her out of bed to make it to shoots on time. She’s never needed or wanted that. She doesn’t want to be that person for Geno. She isn’t that person for anyone.

“Don’t worry, Sid,” Mario tells Sidney, his expression so kind. “You get used to it.”

Nathalie nods.

“Since the Pens have been winning so much lately they have nothing to write about,” Nathalie adds with a laugh as she places a blue glass salad bowl on the hardwood table, before changing the subject to the annual Chicks with Sticks golf tournament.

 

 

After Plates and Skates, Sidney has a lull in her calendar. However when Bruce Webber finds out, he convinces her to fly in to NYC and do a T Magazine shoot with him. The day is splits into pieces of moments. In an empty parking lot, she does handstands and ducks her head into the crook of Miles McMillan neck and tries not to laugh too much when he tries out dance moves for her while they are changing looks. Moonlighting from his day to day role at Nylon Magazine, Mitsu Tsuchiya styles the shoot. He takes delight in dressing Sidney in men’s fashion that feels heavy on her shoulders, and tucking her hair under the thick wool collar of a grey Hugo Boss coat.

The four of them end up going out for dinner afterwards, and then crashing at Mitsu’s on his awful fold out couch. Bruce refuses to stay when he sees it, and musters the energy to call a cab. Sidney’s pretty certain she could get him to drop her off at Coco’s apartment where Sidney is staying, but she isn’t so sure she can be bothered. In Mitsu’s bathroom, she and Miles wash their faces and clean their teeth with spare toothbrushes they find under Mitsu’s sink.

“You’re okay, right?” he asks as he unwraps the toothbrushes from their protective plastic packages.

His tone is purposefully casual, but when she glances at him, he bites his lip and avoids her eyes. Sidney has been mostly okay since Moscow. No migraines, no setbacks. But as much as she knows Miles is asking because he cares, she doesn’t want to go into details. There are things Sidney shares, and there are things Sidney doesn’t. Miles is lovely. He really is, and Sidney genuinely does like him. But she doesn’t owe him answers just because he asked her questions. It sounds blunt worded like that, maybe even rude. But she doesn’t.

“I’m good,” she tells him and lets him take it as a promise if he wishes to make it into one.

Offering her the two toothbrushes, she indulgently picks the glittery one. As she does, he presses a kiss to her check.

“That’s good,” he tells her awkwardly. 

Miles wears his heart on his sleeve. It hurts a little to see. He’s so young and it shows.

Sidney doesn’t think she was ever that young. Hardly any of her friends were.

There is this thing Natasha does sometimes where she acts like she doesn’t care. She doesn’t often do it now, but she used to do it a lot when they were younger. Then and now, her cool disinterest always distances people. Sidney remembers being a teenager and first witnessing how that got under peoples skin. For all that it infuriated and entranced people in equal measures, they never quite got that Natasha’s act wasn’t about them, but her and how it allowed her to distance herself from them.

There was always an imagined mythology surrounding both of them.

Being an ‘enigmatic’ was never Sidney’s intention when she stopped talking to the press, but it is what it is. 

One way or another, Sidney’s always been good at playing to her strengths.

 

 

Sidney knows Geno’s friends. She’s met his parents, his brother and his cousins. She knows his teammates from the Penguins and from Metallurg Magnitogorsk. Over the past few weeks she’s had dinner and drinks with his teammates wives and girlfriends and their kids. She knows his trainer and his coach and team owner, his agent and even his dog sitter. But he doesn’t know her friends. For all they have talked and heard about him, they haven’t actually met him. Sidney only realises this when they meet up for dinner in LA after Geno and the Pens have played the Kings. He brings James with him, which is a surprise.

James is Geno’s winger. One of them, anyway. More than once Sidney has returned to Pittsburgh and found him in Geno’s living room playing video games in his pj's or snoring away on the couch while Geno is throwing together dinner.  Although he’s around the same age as Andreja, he has always struck Sidney as someone much younger. It shows more often than Sidney thinks he realises. It shows now when he when he spots Jessica and Andreja sitting beside Sidney. Like a teenager, his eyes widen. Jessica notices. (Jessica always notices.)

“Sidney has told us all about you,” Jessica says when Sidney introduces them.

It is and isn’t a lie.

Jessica is all charm, and if Sidney didn’t know her, she would miss the sharpness hidden under her tone. With an ease that only she has, she draws Geno and James into a conversation about their game. Clearly knowledgeable, she has an understanding of the game that neither Sidney nor Andreja expected. But then, Sidney wasn’t sure what she expected.  In a friendly tone, Jessica branches out from the game to ask about the Penguins franchise, and the upcoming winter games. There is a hint of an edge to the conversation that neither Sidney nor Andreja can miss particularly when Sochi is brought up. However Sidney isn’t sure that Geno notices that he is being tested.

“We were all surprised when we found out about you and Sid,” Jessica tells Geno after their orders are taken.

James snort. “Us too.”

Taking a large bite of his steak, James seems mostly oblivious to the dangerous water he is treading.

(A lot of things go over James head).

Geno blushes a little and ducks his head. “Me too. I never expect that I would meet someone like Sid.”

Jessica glances over at Sidney, and smiles. “None of us would have believed it was anything more than another rumour if it wasn’t for the photographs. Fuck. Even that could have meant nothing. One time there was a rumour that Sidney was seeing Ryan Gosling after they posed for a photograph together at the MET gala.”

Andreja laughs. “I remember that.”

Sidney eyes Jessica, unsure where she is heading. 

For all that Geno can be so open, he can sometimes be difficult to read. With his arm slung over the back of Sidney’s chair, he seems relaxed. However Sidney is beginning to think James presence isn't an accident. Thankfully, Andreja defuses most the tension before it can build. Breaking Jessica’s chain of questions, Andreja launches into a hilarious story about how she spent the entire evening trying to catch sight of Anna Wintour and engineer an introduction with her.

James tilts his head back and laughs so loudly.

Having lost his game day tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his skirt, he looks unusually good. When Geno excuses himself to go to the bathroom, Jessica turns her attention to him. It’s almost unfair.

At the end of the night, Sidney and Andreja watch as she disappears into the night with him.

“She's going to eat him alive,” Andreja comments. 

Sidney nods. “Probably.” 

When Geno returns to their table James and Jessica are long gone. 

 

 

With Sidney and Geno due to flying out of LA in the morning, the evening ends early. While Geno’s next stop on the Penguins ten day road trip is Philadelphia, Sidney is travelling further afield to Dubai to walk in Chanel's Cruise collection.

“Don’t watch Flyer games,” Geno tells her as he gets changed. “They are never good.”

In the privacy of Sidney’s hotel room, Geno’s exhaustion catches up with him all at once. The game against the Kings ended in overtime and although the Penguins walked away with a win, it was a hard game. Perhaps one of the hardest that Sidney has ever watched. She isn’t sure if she will ever get used to the physicality of hockey. There are already bruises forming on his hip from a hard check and he moves slowly as he gets into bed. Closing his eyes, he exhales slowly. Closing her kindle app on her iPad, Sidney sets it aside as he carefully settles next to her. She isn’t used to this. She isn’t sure if she will ever get used to seeing Geno in pain.

“I’m alright,” he promises, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. 

With such limited time until they are due to part Sidney doesn’t really want to sleep, but this is nice.  Lacing her fingers through his, Sidney lets herself have this – him – for a little while.

“I ask my agent about you,” Geno admits after a while. His voice soft and shy.

“Yeah? What did Barry say?” Sidney asks absently.

“No,” Geno says, suddenly sounding terribly vulnerable. “Not now. In Moscow. I asked him where you would be.”

And –

“I know,” Sidney tells him.

“Sid,” Geno tries again, but Sidney stops him.

“I know,” she repeats, because she did.

It wasn’t a coincidence that he happened to be on the guest list of every event she was slated to attend during Moscow Fashion week. It stopped being one after Alex’s show. She knew. She didn’t care then, and she doesn’t care now. It doesn’t matter to her. She didn’t know him then, but she wanted to. She wanted to see him; wanted to talk to him; wanted him.

Sidney rubs her thumb over Geno’s knuckles. She knew.

 

 

In the morning when Geno and the Penguins are already on their way to Philadelphia, Sidney wakes up to Jessica pinching her. With her freshly washed hair wet against her neck and wrapped in Sidney’s bathrobe, Jessica doesn’t show Sidney any mercy. Blinking sluggishly awake, Sidney tries unsuccessfully to get away from her and only succeeds in tangling herself up in the sheets.

“James says Geno is head over heels for you,” Jessica says. There is a specific kind of energy radiating from her even as she settles into the pillows next to Sidney.

It’s too early for this kind of conversation. Sidney wriggles until she is sitting up against the back of the headboard. Yawning, she pushes her tangled hair behind her ear and waits.

“Athletes can be fun. Okay,” Jessica states, like she’s stating the preliminaries of a conversation they’ve had before.

“Okay,” Sidney cautiously agrees.

 “You’re my best friend,” Jessica says seriously, her eyes very solemn.

“You’re my best friend too,” Sidney says, because Jessica is.

Jessica laces her fingers through Sidney’s. “I’m allowed to worry.”

Sidney knows. She does. If Jessica didn’t care, she wouldn’t say anything.

Nothing feels settled between them, but few things are when it comes to Sidney’s friendship with Jessica. Sometimes they don’t understand each other’s choices, but they’ve always understood each other. As far as things go between them, that has always been the rule rather than the exception. Now is no different.

 

 

Dubai is a whirlwind, and like clockwork, one job turns into two, turns into a skiing trip with Matteo and his family, turns into one campaign for Louis Vuitton and then another for Tom Ford. Through it all, Sidney manages to fly back and forth to Geno. They skype and they see each other when they can. Within no time at all the Fall/Winter fashion season is upon Sidney again.

Sidney’s life is one in motion. 

When Sidney sees Natasha in NYC, Sidney isn’t quite sure what she is expecting.

“I spoke to Jessica,” Natasha says carefully.

Sidney – Sidney didn’t expect that.

“We do talk on occasion.”

“Not in my experience.”

“That is because we mostly talk about you,” Natasha says, the corner of her mouth twitching into a hint of a smile.

Sidney knows that. She knows how lucky she is to have them in her life.    

Natasha shrugs a little in that way of hers. “Sometimes we talk through Lara.”

Sidney can’t help but laugh. “What would we do without her,”

Natasha loops her arm through Sidney’s. Sidney waits, because she knows what this is about. She does. So does Natasha. They know each other too well and for too long for any of their tricks or distractions to work.

“He is very Russian,” Natasha says carefully.

Sidney – Sidney has thought that herself – but she isn’t sure what that is meant to mean in this context.

“I love you,” Natasha says, her eyes serious. “I’ve known you since we were teenagers, but even I was taken by complete surprise.”

Geno took Sidney by surprise. She never imaged someone like him.

“We all want to understand,” Natasha says.

And Sidney – Sidney still isn’t sure how to explain. Her life is made up of so many different parts and people. They are all important to her. Natasha is quiet when she tries to explain that.

“Alright,” Natasha says simply.

Sidney thinks it is. Or will be eventually. Natasha is family to Sidney. Sidney can understand her concern and the concerns of her friends. She can. She can’t ask them to approve of Geno, or accept him. She can only ask them to give him a chance for her. Geno isn’t going anywhere. There is time. She doesn’t need her friends to understand him now. She wants them too, but what matters is they understand her. Natasha always has, and maybe that’s why it is simple for her. Their friendship isn’t about agreeing with all of each other’s choices. It never was.

 

 

After Paris – after the last show and last party – Sidney flies home.

In the back seat of her taxi, Sidney leans her head against the cold glass and yawns. It’s dark and foggy. Sidney could be anywhere. In her hand, she fiddles with the key Geno gave her in Moscow. Pressing her thumb against the corrugated edge, she makes herself stay as awake as she can. Her eyes feel scratchy, and her skin itches a little. It’s been – Sidney doesn’t even know how long it has been since she actually slept. For the last few weeks she’s slept in short bursts, and at odd hours. It is catching up on her now.

It takes too long to get to Geno’s house. Too long to pay the driver and get her bag out of the trunk. It only takes a moment for the taxi to pull away from Geno’s drive, and to disappear down the street, leaving Sidney alone as she twists her key in the sticking lock.

Stumbling into the warmth of Geno’s dark entrance hall, Sidney leaves her case by the door and haphazardly makes her way to Geno’s master bedroom. In the dark, she moves carefully. The soft carpet muffles her footsteps as she moves through the ground floor and up the stairs. Her phone vibrates with another text message in her pocket. It might be the middle of the night in Pittsburgh, but it isn’t everywhere.

Fast asleep, Geno doesn’t stir when she reaches his room. His dark hair is getting a little longer. It is tangled out of shape and looks soft. Something deep inside Sidney’s chest changes shape. Everything is so quiet, so still. The world narrows down until it feels like there is just the two of them. A hot shower later, Sidney lies down next to him, curling against his spine and softly kissing the back of his neck.

 

 

Geno’s home is her home. He’s her home.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find/follow me on [tumblr](http://www.pr-scatterbrain.tumblr.com) if you want <3


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